


Theory in Practice

by carmabelle



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 03:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12246417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carmabelle/pseuds/carmabelle
Summary: Diana has always been good at her lessons - now she must apply them all in the world of man.





	Theory in Practice

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote five thousand words straight out of the cinema and then it sat on my computer for three months but here we go. I think this will end up being a two-parter.

Diana, age nine, had been taught never to show pain.

“It doesn’t matter if you are broken, or hurt, or that you have nothing left,” Antiope had said. “If your enemy believes otherwise, then he will be more the fool for it.”

Diana, now, thinks that Antiope was probably referring to physical pain and not to heartbreak but Diana has always learned her lessons well - and where she has no practical knowledge, she has learnt to generalise. (This turns out to be a good tactic, especially in the world of men, where there are so many new rules she must learn.) She takes the lesson: she does not show pain, although she learns quickly that there is a stark difference between hiding a bruise or a fracture or a break, and hiding the touch of sadness in her eyes as her mouth tries to shift upwards - smile, Diana - when people talk to her about him, the legacy he has left behind. Yes, she intones, he saved us all. She doesn’t tell anyone that he saved the world for her - that her valiant defense of it hangs on his words.

_Maybe it’s not about deserve.. It’s about what you believe in._

“You are as protected as long as the warrior next to you is protected,” Antiope had said. “And if they are vulnerable, then so are you.”

Diana, age eleven, had learnt the maneuvers that would protect her sisters in battle - how to create a defensive formation; how to shield someone; how to nurse injuries. She takes this lesson too and surrounds herself with the strongest people she can find - Etta, Sameer, Charlie, the Chief. They all tether themselves to her in some way - Etta holds both the broken remnants of the Godkiller and the shield and still somehow finds a hand to gently rub Diana’s back as they stand at the memorial site. Charlie sings for her - they are mostly songs about war, practically all that he has known, and they do nothing to alleviate her sadness but they keep her fight alive. Sameer shows up here and there, sometimes with exotic wares and trinkets and hearty tales from his travels. The Chief dislikes London - she can’t blame him - but they exchange stories about their people over the months. True, none of them are as remotely skilled in battle as she is but she knows she can fight enough for them all. Where she is vulnerability - in society, in London, in the 1900s, in love and friendship- she now finds herself protected.

(Her other lessons are not always so relatable: never tense your bow before aiming; the derivatives of the verb combattre (to fight in battle; to engage combat; to oppose) in a dozen ancient languages; a small legion of soldiers can be stopped with a well-timed, well-angled sweep.)

This is true: she wonders, sometimes, whether she loved him too, because she wonders whether you can fall in love with someone in five days, less than a week, a tiny nothing percentage of her own infinite life. She thinks of their first night together, lying in a mound of blankets and bags, being swayed to sleep by the sea, and now knowing that they were both so equally captivated by the other. Later, she learns that she has acted without proper decorum by any Londoner’s standards but the rules of her own polite society state that she should never strike down an enemy who is not as well armed as she is; they are resolutely silent on how forays with the opposite sex, whether platonic or romantic, should be handled - she attributes this, logically, to the very absence of an opposite sex on the island of Themyscira but even Cleo’s treatises (of the body and pleasure, volumes one through twelve) remain unhelpful, preferring to address matters directly and conclusively without the need to contextualise for relationships. (Years later, she grabs a copy of Cleo - How to pleasure your man in 3 easy steps! Ten days to fit that dress? Five fashion finds for less than a $50! - and wonders how they got it all so wrong.)

_I wish we had more time._

She hears the catch in his voice and she remembers the distinct feeling of dread forming -

She remembers protesting - “Whatever it is, I can do it, let me do it.”

_No, it has to be me. It has to be. I can save the day; you can save the world._

She thinks of her last night with him. She thinks about being kissed - described by Cleo as being a natural segue into both reproductive biology and pleasures of the flesh but with little further detail so she is surprised to find that she enjoys the warmth of his mouth on hers, the scratchy sensation of his beard against her face, the soft trace of his tongue on her bottom lip, his hands tangled in her hair and his laugh when she accidentally nips down. He bites gently back at her, eliciting her own laugh and she understands, almost with an empirical clarity, how kissing could naturally progress into other activities when she traces her tongue against his. She wonders the difference between kissing for reproductive purposes and for pleasure and how the paths are meant to diverge but it is an errant thought - she remembers more clearly the feel of his hands as they slide down her sides, holding her at her waist, pulling her flush against him - she thinks that she could stay there in the warmth of his embrace forever but she can also feel his erection (the biological imperative will make itself known when-) pushing against her and she steps back, just a second, to look at the space between them so that she marvel when it disappears again - he takes her cloak off, letting it drop onto the ground and she shivers in the sudden rush between the cold outside and the heat flaring up inside of her. Her bracelets are still on - her breastplate needs to be unhooked - she takes purchase of his shirt and pulls it over his head - he has freed himself from his boots and trousers but he hesitates on the last of her armour -

“Diana,” he starts, looking into her eyes and she recognises, with a flash of affection that is rivalled by an equal amount of amusement, that he is concerned for her modesty.

“Steve,” she says. “Show me what the above average male can do.”

A pause, and then the last of her uniform drops to the ground. 

He is gentle with her but only barely - he touches the small of her back in comfort only briefly after he pushes her against the wall of their bedroom, the other hand tracing her breasts and despite the cold in the air, she feels her skin warm where he has touched her. She loves the feel of his hands as they skim further down her body, she feels his hand slide around to give her behind a squeeze - she pulls back to look him in the eye, bemused; he meets her eyes square, a smile curving his lips upwards, on and she can see practically hear his laughter but it never comes. He kisses her again and she turns her attention back to her own exploration - she can feel the tension in his back and shoulders that came from hard work, repetitive manual work, surely not dissimilar to her own training. She likes that about him - he has worked hard to be strong, and worked hard to be smart, in a world where it seems easiest just to be strong. She feels his triceps and biceps - fine, if not depleted from wartime starvation and the almost sharp protuberance of his hip bones and then he touches her, a little clumsily at first but well-intentioned, in a spot that no one has ever known but herself and electricity shoots up her spine. His touch turns systematic - his fingers curling inside her and tease out the pattern she is familiar with.

“How’re you doing?” he asks her, a sly smile crossing his face, his eyes bright and he meets her eye with glee when she gasps at the sensation of his fingers inside her, his other hand alternating between caressing the sensitive skin of her breasts and tilting her head to the side so that he can suck delicately at the skin where her neck met her shoulders, where she can feel her pulse racing away. Diana is not adverse to learning new things - she thinks all of her tutors have probably described her as such but they usually follow up with ‘but’ - and this is no exception. She learns that her body is capable of receiving pleasure equal - perhaps even superior - to that which she can bestow upon herself - but she is not certain whether she can bestow the same pleasure on another person. It is time for her to take theoretical knowledge and turn it into practical experience and, as she feels the electricity in her body slowly twist inside her, marking the build-up to her release, as she feels the heat and the gentle pressure of his mouth on her neck, she draws back.

“Wait,” she says, more for herself than for him. He is looking straight into her eyes and she thinks, later, that he has the most earnest eyes of anybody she has ever known or will ever know. In that moment, can see exactly what he is thinking and she is edified to know that he, so beautiful in his own way, was so captivated by her - not just her beauty which existed, in his mind, on some sort of intangible plane, but by her radiant belief in peace, and finding Ares and restoring peace to the world. He finds her beautiful, in the same way that she finds him - with his endearing attempt to teach her to dance, his relentless duty to his country, his own desire to find a peace that he can be comfortable with because he certainly does not believe he will live long enough to see a life that is full of breakfasts, or babies - but he has dreamt of it, she is sure. She had seen it in his eyes when they had danced - that distant longing for a life where happiness was a warm bed and someone to share it with -

She realises that she hasn’t even touched him properly yet - not beyond the firm warmth of his length pressed into her. She remembers seeing him naked, dripping wet, a little embarrassed but more curious, in the bathing pools of Themyscira, and her brain slowly processing his form and marrying them with the diagrams she has seen of males. She hadn’t ever really thought about what a man would actually look like - having been sculpted out of clay, she had never known the need to wonder about her father - until after she had seen him. Now, she drops to her knees to give him a more considered examination and she hears him inhale sharply.

“So this is it,” she states simply.

“What do you mean, that’s it? You haven’t even -” his voice, with a touch of indignation, catches when she reaches out to grip him briefly and run her fingers down his length. The skin is warm and firm under her hand and she feels him - it - twitch.

“Steve,” she starts tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“What do men do for bodily pleasure?”

“Uhhh,” his voice is strangled. “Well-” “

Show me?” she says, tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. His breath catches for a moment - and then he takes her hand in his, and guides it so that she is gripped tightly around him, shows her how to move backwards and forwards - she can hear his labored breathing above her - as she tenses her hand, as she uses the other to wipe away the slight wetness at his tip, as she increases her speed -

“Diana,” he stops her reluctantly. “It’s been like - well - nevermind - and - I don’t want to finish - yet. I mean. I would love to - ”

He stops himself because they both know that he’s spiralled into nonsense but she thinks she understands because they are naked but also bare to each other in a way that she didn’t realise was possible with another person.

“What else is there?” she asks, her curiosity resurfacing, her gaze returning to his member.

“Well,” he starts and stops because he can’t ask her to that, can he? She can read the uncertainty in his face and wonders whether he can do the same with her.

“What is it?”

“ I mean. You don’t have to. We can just.. lie in bed, and-” he stumbles.

“- and sleep together?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think I’m done with you yet, Steve Trevor. What would you have me do?”

“Well - I mean. You could try - puttingitinyourmouthifyouwanted?”

Diana pauses. “Put it in my mouth,” she repeats back to him with no small degree of incredulity.

“Well,” he shrugs, a little bravado creeping back into his voice. “Yeah. If you want. Just a thing that.. sometimes is done.”

She leans forward and licks him - she thinks he is even harder now, if that was even possible - and he stutters on air.

“Like that?”

“Ummm,” he wracks his brains for words but is otherwise engaged. “Well-”

She leans forward again and laps her tongue around him and he chokes mid-sentence which she takes as a good sign. She cannot take him into her mouth completely but she fits what she can and uses her hand for the rest, just like he had shown her. She uses her tongue again to trace along the vein protruding against the skin and tries to place the smell and taste - not like anything in particular - a little salty, but clean and warm and comforting in a way.

“Ok that,” he manages to gasp out as he casts his eyes skywards. “Just like that.”

He has tangled his hands into her hair to pull her head forward and she feels him move towards the back of her throat and she shifts her tongue alongside - above her, she can hear his breath hitch and release. When she pulls back slightly, he pulls her back forward and they find a rhythm in the back-and-forth. She relishes in the sound of the groan deep in his chest as she traces the alphabet with her tongue on him, her other hand wrapped tightly around his shaft and stroking earnestly in time.

Then - he moves away from her completely - she feels herself being pulled to her feet, and laughing, he pushes them both onto the bed - her first, landing on her back and her feet finding purchase on the soft velvety blankets. She meets his eye and can’t help but smile at the bright adoration she sees and then the smile is gone because he has just spread her legs and put his mouth to her - and suddenly she can’t think anymore because - oh god what was that - all she could do was feel - the warmth and wetness of his mouth on her, felt him suck at her clit, and then felt his tongue tracing along the sensitive skin of her womanhood, felt him lick inside her until she felt heat surge through her body, felt her toes point and her back arch - he had moved back to her clit whilst his fingers once again found that beautiful pattern inside her, felt her own hands gripping the blanket, felt her body break into sweat and shivers simultaneously, felt - oh, right there - her mind explode into blinding, white pleasure.

When she catches her breath several minutes later, she finds him fumbling in the drawers for something - something small and square and plastic.

“What is it,” she asks, her curiosity piqued.

“It’s a - well, it’s a condom, it’s safer this way.”

“Safer?” “So that you don’t get pregnant,” he explains.

She thinks that mankind has truly thought of everything - a device that stops women from falling with child! - and she watches him put the condom on with no small amount of curiosity. Perhaps he can feel her watching him because the smirk he gives her next is nothing short of lascivious and she feels heat pooling deep inside her belly again. She is no great expert but she thinks that Steve is probably considered very handsome. When he returns to the bed, he puts both hands on her face and kisses her - long and deep and she can taste remnants of herself on his lips - unfamiliar but also not - as he shifts her far back enough that he has room to settle over her. His presence above her, warm and solid, is the greatest amount of comfort she’s known since she left Themyscira and she relishes the feeling. She knows what comes next - is excited for it, even, but no amount of theoretical reading could have prepared her for this - she can feel the dampness between her legs, the tingly excitement coursing through her veins, feels the heat of his skin next to the heat of hers, feels the squirmy nervousness that always accompanies the first time doing anything - and then all she can feel is him, his hands guiding himself into her, feels the unfamiliar but not unenjoyable sense of being filled, feels him thrust into her, a little deeper and the tension in her body starts to build again. He has pulled both her legs upwards, so that they wrap around his torso and the slight shift in angle means that he hits a spot inside her that makes her legs tighten in rapture, makes her moan his name as he thrusts into her, a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead as his exertion builds in time with her own pleasure, feels him pushing harder and harder and harder until - “I’m gonna-” he starts and then he finishes - she feels the tension in his body releasing, enjoys the way his face scrunches slightly, the way he breathes out her name - and it is just enough to tip her over the edge again as wave after wave of pure, white pleasure blind her senses.

Afterwards, he wraps her against his chest and kisses her sleepily on her nose and falls asleep and Diana, tucked into his arms, thinks that practical experience trumps theoretical knowledge any day. Her mind does not rest, preferring to marvel in the wonder of her first carnal experience and she replays the joy of it inside her head until she, too, finally falls asleep. When daylight arrives only a few precious hours later, they dress in silence.

_Diana - I love you._

Later she thinks: yes, I did love him because yes, you can fall in love  _just like that_ and then she pulls her knees to her chest and sobs for what they have both lost: breakfasts, and waking up and eating, and work, and marriage and popping out babies.

This is also true but she doesn’t know it yet: she will get all of these things.


End file.
